


it's hard to stay cool

by invisibledaemon



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gratuitous Star Wars References, Pining, Sharing Body Heat, convenient snowstorm, maybe like a week before, rated T for Unresolved Sexual Tension, set before vol 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 05:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12675000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledaemon/pseuds/invisibledaemon
Summary: When he tells Gamora how he feels – he’s under no illusion that he’s going to be able to keep this under wraps for long, and he doesn’t especially want to, not when he’s like… 90% sure she feels the same – he wants it to be in a far better situation than this. There’s going to be romance, dammit; maybe dancing, even.Wherever and whenever it is, though, it’s not going to be stuffed into a sleeping bag to keep him from freezing to death in some godforsaken ice cave.





	it's hard to stay cool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enigma731](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731/gifts).



> Birthday fic for enigma731!! She requested bed sharing/body heat. It's not technically a bed but... hopefully it counts :D
> 
> Title is from 'Can You Tell' by Ra Ra Riot
> 
> Takes place shortly before vol 2

“It’s freezing.” 

Gamora is a couple steps ahead of him so he can’t see her face, but he can hear the eyeroll in her voice. “We’re in a cave covered mostly in ice on a _planet_ covered mostly in ice; that’s hardly surprising.”

“It’s still freezing,” Peter says under his breath.

Of course she hears him anyway. “Perhaps you should have chosen a warmer outfit.” 

He lets out a melodramatic gasp. “My outfit is awesome. This is genuine Krylorian leather.” He pops the collar of his long coat. Gamora glances back at him; she does not look impressed. 

True, his coat isn’t doing all it could to protect him from this ridiculously freezing cave, and yeah, maybe he could be wearing a more practical scarf, but they’re gonna be in and out of this place in like ten minutes so it hardly matters.

“You’re wearing basically the same thing,” he points out as they walk slowly through the dim cave, shining their flashlights around it. The light glints off the icy patches on the ground and the icicles of varying sizes that hang from the ceiling. He might appreciate the beauty of it more if it wasn’t so damn cold.

“I’m able to regulate my body temperature much better than you,” Gamora says matter-of-factly. 

He pouts a bit because she has a point there. “My outfit is cool,” he says, aware he’s being petulant. 

“Yes,” she says with a small, indulgent smile. “You look like a pebble star.” 

It takes him a moment to figure out what she's referring to. “... You mean a rock star?”

“Exactly,” she says absently, approaching a small tunnel-like opening on the opposite wall of the cave. 

Peter shakes his head fondly and follows her, examining the tunnel too. It’s definitely wide enough for them to fit, but crawling through an icy tunnel on his hands and knees is the opposite of appealing right now. 

“We’ll have to go through one at a time,” Gamora says. 

“Alright.” He sighs and removes the supply pack from his shoulders. “I won’t be able to fit through with this, though.” 

She takes it and slips it on without question. “Be careful,” she says as she gets down and enters the tunnel first. “If you move too quickly you could disturb the formations.”

“The giant icicles?” He follows her, definitely _not_ staring at the way her ass moves as she crawls through the tunnel… okay, maybe a little. She’s right in front of him -- where else is he supposed to look? It’s not like he’s never caught her staring at _his_ ass before. 

“The small ones are the icicles,” she says. “The large ones are stalactites; mostly rock, just covered in ice. They’re heavy but have a surprisingly loose hold on the ceiling where they’re attached.”

“How do you know all that?”

“I researched for our mission,” she says like it’s obvious. 

“I did too,” he mutters. “Just not technical names of stuff.” 

“Then what _did_ you research?”

“The nearest planet with a good bar.”

“I’m sure that will prove helpful.”

“The alcohol will warm us up after, so yeah--helpful.”

She ignores that, because he’s clearly made a super good point and she doesn’t want to admit it. 

“Careful getting out,” she says as she exits the tunnel gracefully, backing away a few steps so he can follow her with considerably less grace. He doesn’t fall flat on his face, though, so he’s calling it a win. 

“Why couldn’t this scientist dude have just stayed in the main part of the cave?” Peter grumbles, shivering as he looks around at the large chamber they’ve entered. It looks about the same as the one they were just in, only taller, longer, and _at least_ ten degrees colder. 

Gamora gives a little half-shrug. “I imagine researching caves involves researching the _entire_  cave.” 

“Apparently it also involves getting stuck in the cold and needing us to come rescue him,” he says as they walk through this chamber, shining their flashlights around. There are small bits of light coming in through tiny openings high up in the ceiling but it’s still mostly dark. And _cold_ ; has he mentioned that it’s cold? 

“I’m not complaining,” she says. “It’s a simple, paying job.” 

“I just hope we find him alive.” He eyes the pack Gamora is now carrying, which is small but full of necessary supplies for surviving in the cold -- which the scientist they’re there to find apparently neglected to bring along in his eagerness to research freaking ice or rocks or whatever a person researches in caves. 

“I agree,” Gamora says quietly as they reach the back of this chamber and discover yet another section, though thankfully this one is through more of a doorway in the walls instead of a tunnel. 

“This place is one Yeti monster away from being the planet Hoth,” he says, which perks him up a bit; exploring depressing places is always a bit less depressing when he can compare it to something cool. 

“Hoth?” Gamora glances over at him, clearly confused. “I’ve never heard of that planet.”

He grins. “It’s not real; it’s from _Star Wars_.”

“Ah,” she says, nodding. “The Earth movies about another galaxy?” 

“Well,” Peter says quickly, “they're _about_ a legendary outlaw -- rogue but charming, of course, as all us legendary outlaws are.” 

“Of course,” she says dryly.

“And this smart, strong, beautiful princess. They’re both totally badass and totally into each other.” He clears his throat; his voice got a little too dreamy, there. Thankfully the cave is dark enough to hide his sudden blush. “And there’s a jedi, too.” 

“What is a--?” 

Before she can finish her question, the small comm on her belt buzzes and she reaches down to answer it. 

“Did you find the scientist?” she asks without preamble.

Drax’s voice answers from the comm. “ _Yes_ ,” he says triumphantly. “ _We have located the scientist first, as I told you we would!_ ” 

Peter groans. Gamora just shakes her head. “Is he safe?” she asks. 

This time it’s Rocket who answers. “Y _eah, yeah, he’s fine. We’re taking him to the ship now. The point is we won. Take that, Quill! Come do the walk of shame back_.”

“There was a 50/50 chance--” Peter starts to say heatedly, but Gamora shushes him with a nervous glance at the icicles or stalactites or whatever they are above them. 

“ _And hurry your butts up_ ,” Rocket continues. “ _There’s a snowstorm approaching fast._ ” 

“We’re on our way,” Gamora says evenly, then presses a button on the comm and slips it back onto her belt. “Good timing; we’re at a dead end anyway.” 

He shines his flashlight around the small room they’re in and finds that she’s right; nothing but walls here. That doesn’t stop him from making a frustrated noise as they start heading back. “They just got lucky. There were two caves, and we randomly chose who would go in which one.” 

“This competition between you and Rocket is extremely childish,” Gamora informs him. 

“I am not childish,” he says in a faux-offended voice. “Would a childish person have moves like this?” He begins dancing through the cave instead of walking, sliding his feet and snapping his fingers and grinning at Gamora all the while. 

“Those look pretty childish to me.” She sounds unamused but there’s a quirk of her eyebrow that suggests otherwise, and that’s all the encouragement Peter needs to continue. 

“Let’s see you do any better,” he says, doing the moonwalk in a circle around her. “C’mon, show me what you got.” 

“We’re working, Peter.” 

“No, we’re not,” he says, waving a hand dismissively before he stops in front of her to do the pop and lock. “The others found the scientist. Our job is done.” 

“We still have to get out of here before the storm hits.” She shakes her head but she can't seem to hide the little smile tugging on her lips, and that only spurs him on further; he’s done far stupider things for her attention. 

“The Milano is right out there,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the way they came. He obligingly starts moving again, though, kicking his dancing up a notch. 

“We’re approaching a slippery area,” Gamora says as they get closer to the tunnel. “Perhaps you should walk normally now.”

“Psh,” he says, turning to dance at an angle, facing her as he dances along her side. “What’s a little ice to the guardians of the galaxy? Besides, this _is_  normal for me. Dancing comes as naturally to me as walking.” He dances over to her other side. “Or breathing.” He dances in front of her again, relishing the tiny smile that still graces her face. “Or--whoa!” 

As he dances around behind her he slips on a patch of icy ground. Gamora tries to reach for him after he cries out, but even her enhanced reflexes aren’t quick enough; he flails as his feet slip and slide over the ground, trying to find purchase as he careens through the cave, but it’s no use -- he slams, hard and painful, into a wall, sending a huge crack up the ice that coats the rock. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, looking up to see the formations -- large and small, rock and ice -- on the ceiling start to shake. 

A half second later he hears, “Peter!” Then he’s suddenly being shoved down, knees stinging as they hit the hard ground, Gamora crouching in front of him and covering his head with her hands. 

Running on adrenaline and an instinct to protect her, too, he brings his own hands up to hover over her head just in time to feel pieces of ice start raining down on them. 

He listens to the sounds of crashing and slamming and ice breaking around them, anxiously waiting for something bigger to fall on them. He only feels tiny sprinkles of ice against his hands, though, and a couple chunks of rock that fall dully on his back. 

It’s over quickly but they stay like that for a moment longer, not trusting the calm. Their heads are braced against each other’s shoulders, hands shielding each other’s heads like some kind of strange hug. Her breath comes in warm puffs against his neck and he shudders pleasantly. 

He’s almost tempted to stay like this, savoring the closeness, but then he can feel her shift, tilting her head up.

He tentatively lifts his head, too. “Think we’re in the clear?” he whispers, heart pounding. 

“I think so.” She pulls all the way away, staying crouched and looking up to examine the ceiling. The cold, which he’d momentarily forgotten, hits him harder in her absence. “Everything appears stable.” 

Peter sighs in relief. “Good. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she answers flatly, glancing at him as she stands up. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says distractedly, more focused on concern for her; she stood up a little slower than she normally would. He looks her over for scrapes or bent limbs or icicles sticking out of her skin, but he doesn’t see any signs of injury. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, Peter,” she says a little impatiently. “Now, can we talk about how we’re going to get out of here?” She nods her head towards the tunnel, where there’s a giant stalactite impaled in the ground directly in front of it, blocking their only exit. 

“Ah, shit,” he mumbles. 

“Yes,” Gamora agrees as they both walk over to it. 

Judging by the width of the thing, it must be stuck several feet into the ground, though it still reaches well above the height of the tunnel. There are fissures extending out from where it stabbed the ground and shards of ice spread all around it. 

“Maybe we can lift it?” he suggests; he’s seen Gamora lift insanely heavy stuff before. 

She nods and they try to lift it together, but even with her super-strength (and his at least better than average strength; he’s not _un_ helpful) the thing won’t budge; it’s heavy as hell, in way too deep, and inconveniently slippery where it’s still coated with ice.

“Or not,” Peter says when they finally give up. He pulls away and crosses his arms, now really regretting the fact that he’d basically hugged an ice-cold rock. Is it his imagination or has it somehow gotten colder in here? 

“Oh, I could shoot it,” he says, reaching for one of his blasters.

“Not a good idea,” Gamora says. “We’d need a more controlled blast to make sure it doesn’t hit the walls and cause even more of them to fall.” 

He sighs and re-holsters his blaster. “Well…” He bends down to peer around the side of the stalactite. There’s hardly any space between the rock and the tunnel, but there is some. “ _You_ could probably fit--”

“No,” she says firmly. “I’m not leaving without you.” 

He stands back up, touched by the emotion in her voice. She holds his gaze for a moment before clearing her throat and looking away. “I mean, who knows what other trouble you could get into by yourself?”

“Right.” He deflates, crossing his arms again. 

She must hear something in his tone because she softens and looks at him. “Peter, I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” he says, trying not to sound too defensive. It’s not like he meant to knock a bunch of shit off the ceiling and block their way out. Which… he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it’s still his fault, but for some reason it’s important to him that _she_ doesn’t think it is.

They stand there in awkward silence for a moment, both of them (he assumes) wanting to say something but unsure what or how or if they should, until she looks away first. 

“I’m going to call the others,” she says, voice carefully even. “We’ll need one of Rocket’s controlled explosions.” 

Peter sighs, but he’s actually mostly glad for the change of topic so he says nothing, just paces slightly back and forth to try to fight off the numbness creeping into his feet and hands; he’s really starting to see her point about wearing more practical clothing. 

“Rocket? Drax?” she says into the comm.

“ _What’s wrong?_ ” Rocket responds. 

“Why do you assume something’s wrong?” Peter asks, defensive again. 

“ _Because you’re there, Star-Munch_.”

“Enough,” Gamora says before Peter can go off. “There’s a large stalactite blocking our only exit. We need you to bring a _very small_ bomb to break it up so we can get out.” 

“ _How did that happen?_ ” Drax asks.

Gamora, bless her, ignores him. “Has the storm started?”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Rocket says and Peter curses. “ _We’re on the ship, but we can barely see out the windows._ ”

“ _But we will brave the storm and come fetch you--_ ” Drax begins, but Gamora cuts him off.

“No, don’t do that. It’s not an emergency. The storms on this planet don’t usually last long, just come get us when it’s over.”

“ _Alright,_ ” Rocket says, with what might be an edge of concern in his voice. 

“ _I am Groot?"_

“ _They’re fine_ ,” they hear Rocket mutter to Groot. “ _Call us if that changes._ ”

“Okay,” Gamora says simply. “Let us know when you’re on your way.” 

“Another thing for him to rub in my face,” Peter mumbles as she hangs up. 

She raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure you can live with that to get out of here.” 

He makes a noncommittal noise. Then he notices that Gamora is holding herself kind of stiffly, and he wonders if she was lying before about being cold; it wouldn’t be the first time she had denied her own pain or discomfort. 

“Are you sure you’re not cold?” 

“I’m fine,” she insists again. 

“Then why are you holding yourself weird?”

She noticeably loosens her posture. “I’m not.” 

He rolls his eyes at her stubbornness, but apparently she’s noticed something about him, too, because she's suddenly looking at him kind of intensely, head titled in concern. 

“Are you sure _you’re_ alright?” 

“Well,” Peter says, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. “I’m freezing my ass off, but otherwise I’m fine.”

She comes closer to him and examines his face. “Peter, your lips are turning blue, why didn’t you say something?” 

“I said I was cold,” he mumbles, giving up the fight and letting his teeth start to chatter. 

“Should I call the others and tell them to come sooner?” she asks, already pulling out the comm.

“No, no,” he says, covering her hand with his before she can call; he doesn’t want them to risk the storm. Plus, Rocket would never let him live it down. “I’m okay, I would just--like to be warmer, that’s all.” He would also really like to not lose his toes, but he’s not at a stage where he’s desperate enough to ask the others to risk their own safety. 

“Alright,” she says reluctantly, glancing down at their hands. They’re both wearing gloves, but he swears he can feel the heat of her hand through them before they awkwardly pull away -- which gives him an idea.

“Hey,” he says, eyeing the pack that Gamora is still wearing. “I’m not trying to be creepy, but I may need your help, um… body heat wise.” 

“Of course!” she says without hesitation, already slipping the pack off. She presses a couple buttons on the side and the bag changes shape instantly, turning into a thick sleeping bag. “We should find the least icy ground we can; it insulates but it’s not foolproof.” 

His mind is practically spinning with how quickly this is happening, but he’s switched into enough of a survival mode that he gets past the surprise and scans the ground for any ice-free areas. 

“How ‘bout here?” he says, walking over to a spot towards the center of the cave.

“That looks good,” she says, voice all-business as she lays the bag down. “I’ll lie on the bottom so your back doesn’t have to touch the cold ground.” 

“No, Gamora, you don’t have to--”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, already crawling in. “You’re the one who’s shaking from the cold.”

“Okay,” he says, giving in quicker than he normally would; he really is freezing. 

“Come on,” she says when only her head is left sticking out. 

He unholsters his blasters and sets them on the ground so he doesn’t accidentally nudge a trigger, then crawls in with much less poise than she had; he’s shivering almost violently, his shoulder throbs from where it hit the wall earlier, and it’s difficult to get in feet first without bumping into her too much. Thankfully the bag stretches to accommodate wherever they move, so when Gamora notices his struggle she stretches an arm and a leg out to push on the side of the bag, leaving room for him to shimmy in next to her. He only slams his knees or elbows into the ground three times, which he considers a victory. 

Once he’s all the way in, she ducks her head in too and presses a button that closes the top of the bag, basically sealing them inside a thick, cotton cocoon.

“You should get closer,” she says; their sides are barely touching. “Isn’t that the point?”

“Um, thanks,” he mumbles, holding himself stiffly, half above her and half by her side. It’s undoubtedly warmer in here but not as much as it could be; his body is still wracked with shivers and his teeth are still chattering intermittently. “Did those cheap researchers not give us one of the emergency packs with heaters?”

“They did,” she tells him. “Remember? They only had one, though. The others have it.” 

“Right,” he says, then clears his throat when he can’t think of anything else to add.

In the silence, Peter suddenly becomes aware of how very close they are, how much he’s pressed up right against her, _above_  her. He squirms, struggling to find a good position; if he keeps their faces level, that presses his hips right into hers and he does not want his, um...reaction...to be that obvious to her when it inevitably happens. But if he scoots low enough for his hips to pass hers then his face ends up level with her chest. Gamora stays still, either unaware of his predicament or choosing to ignore it. 

It’s not that they’ve never touched before, or been this close; they’ve hugged a few times, and back on Knowhere he was even lying on top of her for a while, but this is different. They know each other better now; she’s his best friend, his confidante, the woman he’s so in love with it actually, physically hurts sometimes. The last thing he wants to do is screw this up, make her think he’s using this opportunity to hit on her or something.

When he tells Gamora how he feels -- he’s under no illusion that he’s going to be able to keep this under wraps for long, and he doesn’t especially want to, not when he’s like… 90% sure she feels the same -- he wants it to be in a far better situation than this. There’s going to be romance, dammit; maybe dancing, even. 

Wherever and whenever it is, though, it’s not going to be stuffed into a sleeping bag to keep him from freezing to death in some godforsaken ice cave. And it’s definitely not going to be while he’s shivering and squirming and struggling to find the least awkward position in said sleeping bag. 

Eventually he settles with his face level with hers, but his hips shifted to the side so they’re not pressed directly to her. He finally meets her eyes; she’s looking at him with both eyebrows raised in a way that tells him she knows exactly what he’s trying to do. He blushes, but mercifully she doesn’t comment. 

Not on that, anyway.

“You’re still shivering,” she says, brow knitted in concern. “And your lips are still blue.”

“Stare at my lips much?” he teases. She just levels him with an unimpressed look so he clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m still cold. It is helping, just slowly.”

There’s a much more efficient way for him to warm up, but he’s pretty set against bringing it up; bad enough he had to basically proposition her to crawl into a tiny bag with him and let him lie on top of her; he is _not_ going to tell her that clothes are getting in the way of sharing body heat. 

But apparently he’s not the only one aware of that fact. 

“We should take our clothes off,” Gamora says simply, already shrugging her jacket off. 

“What?” He gapes at her dumbly. 

“Body heat, right?” She gets her arms out of the jacket but leaves it beneath her.

“I--well, yes,” he says, heartrate kicking up fast. 

“Are you uncomfortable with that?” she asks, pausing with her fingers on the hem of her shirt. 

“No,” he scoffs. “I just--wasn’t sure _you_  would be comfortable with my rock hard abs right in your face.”

She rolls her eyes. “You walk around without a shirt on at least three times a week. I think I’m used to it by now.”

He bites his lip over a smile -- she’s been paying attention. “I think just tops will do, though,” he says, trying to sound casual. If he takes his pants off, there’s no way he’s going to be able to hide his reaction. 

“Alright,” she agrees easily. 

Then she starts pulling her shirt up and he quickly looks away because he’s not going to hit on her _or_  leer at her while she’s trying to help him avoid hypothermia. He sheds his jacket and shirt, grateful that the bag stretches neatly around him as he does so he doesn’t have to do too much awkward maneuvering. 

He keeps his eyes carefully averted from her as much as he can; he has thoughts on the first time he’s gonna see her shirtless, too. These thoughts vary, but most of them take place after his thoughts on when he’s going to bring up the whole undying love thing.

A lot of these thoughts -- alright, _fantasies_  -- take place on the Milano. He has this one where they’ve just come back from a date, where they danced all night and he was perfectly charming and he told her loved her and she immediately said it back. The others are all out for some fantasy reason; she leans in to kiss him as soon as they sit down on his bunk, one hand cupping his cheek; they kiss long and slow and gentle until she reaches down to pull up his shirt, running frantic hands along his back as he pulls her into his lap, their lips separating for only a moment so they can each shuck their tops off and then she’s half naked and gorgeous in his lap and--

_Fuck_. He really needs to stop this train of thought. He can already feel his pants getting tighter.

He shakes the fantasy out of his head and is about to re-settle, try to get close enough to her to warm up but not press his hips right into hers, when he notices something.

His eyes happen to graze over her as he lifts them to her face; he can’t possibly help that, and anyway she’s still wearing a sports bra _and_  he catches her pretty openly staring at his chest, until she notices that _he’s_  noticed and then she hastily averts her eyes. He’s so busy for a moment being pleased that she was looking at him that it takes his brain a minute to catch up with what he’d seen: 

Blood. Dark green.  _Hers._

“Oh my god!” he exclaims, eyes snapping back to her side where there’s a cut at least an inch long -- it disappears around her back, so he has no idea how large it actually is. Blood slowly but steadily seeps out of it; not a ton, but enough to be concerning. “Gamora, what the hell? You said you were fine!”

“I am fine,” she says, calm in the face of his agitation. “It’s just a cut. It will heal itself soon.”

“It looks like a pretty goddamn deep cut,” he says, leaning a bit closer to inspect it.

She sighs. “An icicle grazed me. It’s not a big deal, Peter, honestly.” 

“I can’t believe you didn’t _tell_ me,” he whispers, unable to tear his eyes away from the cut. _I can’t believe I didn’t notice,_  he doesn’t say. “I can’t believe you tried to lift that giant rock in this condition.” _I can’t believe I was dancing around like an idiot and I got you hurt_.

She stiffens underneath him. “I’m not in any _condition_ \--”

“To be lifting a billion ton rock with a hole in your side, you’re right,” he interrupts. 

“You’re being overdramatic,” she says with an eyeroll.

“You’re being underdramatic!” 

She just looks at him, unamused. 

“Gamora, please. Let me bandage this up.”

“You’re freezing,” she says with a pointed look at his lips. 

“Here, what about this?” He leans back into her uninjured side so they’re at least sharing some body heat. He’s focused enough on her cut for some of his awkwardness to have dissolved, though his brain does still take a moment to shout: _Gamora skin! Soft, smooth, warm!_

“We should be focused on warming you up,” she insists stubbornly. 

“I _am_  warming up,” he says, equally stubborn. When she continues looking reluctant, he says in a softer tone, “Look, I know you heal fast, but I think there’s some spray in here that’ll help with the pain. I bet it stings.”

“It’s nothing I am not used to,” she says stiffly, but her posture relaxes somewhat. 

“Doesn’t mean you have to live with it.”

She sighs deeply but she nods. “Alright. If it will make you feel better, you can bandage my cut.” 

“Thank you!” he says, doing an internal fist pump; usually it takes a lot longer than that to convince her that she doesn’t have to stubbornly suffer through things that are fixable.

He digs around in some of the large pockets that line the inside of the bag until he finds what he needs. The pockets themselves stretch along with the bag, but the contents inside don’t, so he pulls out a normal-sized roll of adhesive, a cloth, and a spray bottle of topical medicine that’s supposed to make injuries heal faster. 

“Can you turn over a bit?” he requests, awkwardly hovering above her, trying to stay leaned into one side for warmth. 

She does as he asks and his breath catches in his throat; this time he can’t help looking at her bare skin, needing to wipe off the blood that’s run from the cut. There are delicate silver scars along her back and shoulder blades, peeking out from beneath her black sports bra. Like the ones on her face, they somehow only make her more beautiful. 

“Are you okay?” she asks when he’s been still for a moment.

“Yeah,” he says quickly, clearing his throat and trying to subtly shift his hips farther away from her. He carefully wipes the blood off her back, sticking his tongue out slightly as he concentrates on his task, then picks up the bottle.

He still has his gloves on and his fingers are still shaking slightly with the cold so he’s a bit clumsy, but he manages to uncap the bottle and spray her cut, which instantly stops the bleeding. Then he rips off a large bandage from the roll, laying it tenderly over the cut where it instantly molds to the curve of her side, sealing itself on. 

“There,” he breathes, finally glancing up from his work to see that Gamora’s been watching him intently. 

“Thank you,” she says in a voice that puzzles him a bit; it’s soft, almost reverent, clogged with some emotion that she seems to be trying to suppress. He’s seen her be emotional before, of course, but he hadn’t expected it just because he’d put a bandage on her cut. It’s not like this is even the first time he’s patched her up, though it is rare -- she’s much better than he is at kicking ass and not getting her ass kicked in return. 

“Hey,” he says just as softly, “anytime. We’re a team; partners.” 

She nods, meeting his gaze. He can see her throat work as she seems to struggle for words. “It’s something I’m still not used to. I normally deal with injuries on my own.”

“Not anymore,” Peter says firmly but gently.

“Well.” She clears her throat, smiling slightly. “You do not have to be freezing anymore.”

He huffs out a laugh and finally lies down fully on top of her, again trying to shift his hip away and ignore the fact that the _bare skin_  of his stomach is pressing against the _bare skin_  of her stomach and it’s warm and smooth and her breasts, oh god her breasts, even through the fabric of her bra--

He gives himself another mental shake, trying to get those thoughts out of his head but it’s hard -- _ha, pun_ , he thinks -- when she’s so beautiful and so much of her skin is bared right now and he’s _s_ _o goddamn in love with her_. 

“Is this okay?” she asks, suddenly very quiet as she wraps her arms around him, running her hands up and down his back. Unlike him, she’d taken off her gloves, so that's more of her bare skin against his.

He shivers, which thankfully he can write off as being solely from the cold. “Yeah,” he breathes, letting himself relax against her. He keeps his head to the side of hers, not fully leaning on her shoulder but close, bracketing her sides with his arms. 

It feels good, and not just because he’s touching so much of her; her body heat pressed against him and filling up the tight cocoon around them is warm, blissful relief. 

“This is better than Hoth at least,” he says after a moment, when the chattering of his teeth has completely stopped.

“How so?” Gamora asks absently. She seems to be mostly focused on warming him up, but _he_  needs to focus on something other than the way she’s touching him if he wants to keep his cool here. 

“On Hoth, Han had to cut open this giant, stinky animal and crawl inside it to keep from freezing out in the snow.” 

“Ah,” she says. “Yes, I prefer this bag to the belly of an animal.”

He nods. “Plus, there’s no monster living in this cave.” 

“That we are aware of,” Gamora says in such a serious tone that, a month or so ago, he wouldn’t have known she was joking. Now, though, he can hear the trace of humor in her voice, see it in the way her eyes crinkle just slightly. 

“Aaw, don’t put that thought in my head,” he says, playing along. 

“What? Do you not want to live out a _Star Wars_  scenario? You told me once that you used to play out some of the scenes when you were a child, and were disappointed that ‘real space’ is not more similar to what you saw in the movies.”

“You’ve got a point,” he says quietly, touched by how much she remembers from his stories. There are plenty of things both of them are still getting used to when it comes to this new team, this new life; having someone who actually listens when he tells them things is one of them. 

“Is something wrong?” she asks, apparently concerned by his tone. 

“No, no,” he says, trying to shake the naked affection off his face -- _don’t be so damn obvious, Peter_. 

“Do you feel alright? Are you still cold?”

“No,” he says again, honestly. Now that he takes stock, he notices that he’s warmed up a lot in the past couple minutes. “I feel a lot better, actually.”

“Good,” she says simply, though her eyes continue to scan his face with concern. “Your lips are no longer blue. And you’ve stopped shivering.”

“You’re very good at sharing body heat,” he tells her, then turns serious. “Thank you. For--doing this.”

“Of course,” she says. “We are a team, like you said. Partners.” 

“Partners,” he echoes, a bit choked up. He clears his throat, in awe of her ability to warm him up with her words even faster than her contact. “We can switch now so you don’t have to lie on the ground.”

She’s already shaking her head before he finishes speaking. “I’m fine.”

“Gamora.” 

“I am,” she insists. “Look… I promise I will tell you if I need to switch. But my body temperature is still the same.”

“Alright,” he says reluctantly. She does seem sincere. 

He’s quiet for a moment, screwing up his determination now that he can focus on something besides his temperature. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out at last.

She tilts her head. “What for?”

“For causing this,” he says, trying not to sound too distressed. “For getting us trapped; getting you hurt.”

“It’s okay, Peter,” she says softly. “I know it was an accident. I’m not angry.” 

He nods, though he still feels guilty. 

“I may be next time, though,” she says warningly, but with a small smile and a certain warmth in her eyes, “if you don’t listen to me when I tell you to stop being foolish.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says solemnly, returning her smile. “My foolish days are behind me.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Like you’d want me any other way.”

She shrugs one shoulder but she’s still got that soft, affectionate smile; still lightly rubbing a hand over his back; still letting her eyes stray down occasionally to his lips. 

He swallows nervously. Her face is really close to his right now, their lips separated by an inch or two at most. This isn’t the most romantic situation, perhaps, but it’s not _un_ romantic, really. They’re snuggling for body heat, sure, but they’re snuggling nonetheless, and that’s pretty romantic. 

Her expression has gotten a little more serious and he’s sure his has, too. “Hey, uh--” he starts to say--

“ _Companions! The storm has passed and we are on our way to retrieve you!_ ”

\--until Drax’s voice booms over the comm to interrupt him. 

Gamora quickly looks away from him and reaches down to snatch up the comm. “Thank you.”

“ _On our way to save your butts, he means,_ ” Rocket adds helpfully. “ _Since apparently saving the scientist ourselves wasn’t enough_.” 

“50/50 chance!” Peter yells, but Gamora’s not pressing the ‘talk’ button. 

She slips the comm back onto her belt. “Don’t let him antagonize you.”

“I’m not,” he says. He’s pouting a bit, but it’s mostly because the mood has been shattered, Gamora’s face rearranged into a more neutral expression. “I’m a legendary outlaw; I’m way above his pettiness.” He tosses his head back regally.

She smirks. “Okay, _Star-Lord_. Think you’re warm enough to get out so we can help them when they get here?”

Peter’s chest swells with pride when she calls him Star-Lord and he grins. This particular moment may have been broken, but they’ll have another one soon; he _knows_  she feels something for him too, even if they haven’t spoken it out loud yet. 

“Yeah,” he says, not moving quite yet. He lets his grin soften into a crooked, sincere smile. “Never been warmer."


End file.
